


kill of the night

by nicotinedaydream



Series: Dangerous Liaisions [3]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinedaydream/pseuds/nicotinedaydream
Summary: David and Michael get their revenge.Set in the distant future ofyou're just a cannibal, and i'm afraid i won't get out alive.





	kill of the night

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this was an entirely different concept yesterday. I was gonna be the horrible person to kill off Michael and have some angsty shit where David tells him to, "Let go." The story's first italicised line was pretty much the opening to that can of worms, was gonna have Michael discover his way of going out, and it was gonna be some sort of slow death, cos I'm an evil person. 
> 
> But my mind decided, "Oh hell no, we can't kill off Michael, it's not happening." (It might have had something to do with me being scared about how to handle writing David showing emotion without being too OOC, but ssssshhhhh, I never said that okay?). Anyway, this is what's transpired. It was meant to be a small thing, not over 1000 words. What happened??? I have no clue.

_No two bloodsuckers go the same way._

Marko had, according to Sam, fizzed like a carbonated drink; his flesh bubbling, guts bursting, leaving behind an odious pile of goop. He vaguely remembers waiting in the car half-asleep, the sun weakening his strength and Star's tired, warm body curled against him. He'd heard the faint echo of Marko's demise.  _YOU'RE DEAD MEAT._ He'd heard David, too; a thundering roar, full of sorrow, but threatening all the same. Looking back, he could only describe it as feral retaliation at the loss of a friend. No… not friend. Brother.  _Family_.

Paul had melted down into nothing; his flesh, bones, organs, all reduced to plasmic gore. Michael hadn't seen that one in action either, but he'd heard the Frogs describe it with awe and disgust a few days later when they were reading some horror comics with Sam. That, and Michael had witnessed the aftermath. The stench had been foul.

Dwayne had imploded, his body in pieces on the ground; electrocuted, fried alive.  _Death by stereo._ Michael grimaces at the memory. Sam's giddy words, the screeching scream Dwayne made, and the hiss of his body sizzling and popping.

Max had bit the dust in an explosion of soot and tar-like filth. They'd had no bathroom or kitchen with running water thanks to Paul's gruesome expiration date, so clean-up had not been a pleasurable experience.

 _David_.

Michael will never forget the weight of David's body when he'd slammed him onto the antlers, or the moment he'd stepped back and seen what he'd done. David's face, the gleaming eyes and fangs gone, leaving behind the young man with almost angelic features; youthful, serene, like death had set him free. Maybe it would have, if Michael hadn't missed, though it didn't matter now.

 _Blood_.

David's clothes, hair and face are splattered with blood. Michael watches David lick flecks of it from his lips, stringy red threads caught on the curl of his tongue. When Michael had watched David feed for the first time, the sight had been so heinous and nauseating that he'd wanted to throw up. It is still violent and gruesome, yes, but now it's also damn breathtaking. This person in front of Michael isn't the villain from a fairy tale, or the monster from a comic book; a creature of the night, like Sam would have said. Not anymore. It's just… David.

Alan Frog is dead, his neck torn apart, shredded, any essence of life spilled out across the sand. Edgar is collapsed by his side, cheeks burning, eyes glazed.

David slides an arm around his shoulders and Michael leans into it, craving this; this touch, this companionship,  _him_. Even thinking about where he'd be right now if those antlers had done their job is a black hole he likes to stay drifting far, far away from.

"What do you say we finish this, huh, Michael?" David's words are soft, dangerous, his breaths warm and tangy sweet from the hunt.

"I thought we already did." He smirks, baring his fangs, and David cackles. The sound trickles into Michael like blood down his throat; dark, satisfying, addictive.

Edgar glances up, teeth clenched, light of the bonfire streaking across his face. He looks savage, like a halfling vampire without the bite.

"Aw, he's trembling," David chuckles. Michael's smirk fills out, broader, until it's a shameless grin.

"He is, isn't he?" He walks over, aware of David behind him, observing like a proud sire should. "Why is that, Ed? You scared?"

"Fuck you," Edgar spits, his glare forceful, intense. He's trying to look like a hero, Michael thinks, unafraid in the face of evil. All Michael sees,  _smells_ , is prey; the scent of anguish and rage is so very human, it's unmistakable. Alan's vacant eyes stare at Michael, too, judging him from beyond the grave.

Michael notices the stake on the ground, the one Alan had tried to stab through David's heart, and picks it up. His grin falls, thumb a gentle pressure over the point. "Your brother really should have known better," he says under his breath, voice clipped and serious.

"Funny that you're the one talking to me about knowing better," Edgar growls, rising to the bait. Michael knew he would, is definitely not surprised at the half-attempt to make him feel guilty. He'd expected it.

David hadn't.

" _Watch it_ ," David sneers, eyes void of emotion. Michael knows what that means, had seen it before; the night everything ended (and other things began), when David's eyes had gone empty and cold as he'd blamed Michael for Marko's death.

Edgar glowers, but his mouth closes, and Michael thinks he's going to shut his smart-ass mouth for once.

Sadly, the silence doesn't last.

"Want to know something,  _Michael_?" he says, a gruffness to his voice. Michael is quick to remember that this isn't the kid from years ago, putting on a rough tone to sound big. No. This is now a man who has grown into his voice, whose brother is dead, who wants revenge. He raises an eyebrow as the Frog stands up, knees wobbling, hand splayed over his ribs and pressing against a wound David inflicted when Edgar had tried to stop him from drinking Alan dry.

"You hear that, David?" Michael gasps, tone playful. He catches David's eyes, sees them gleam amber in the light of the bonfire.

"Sure do," David quips, low, daring.

"Edgar here thinks there's something I should know," Michael continues, nonchalant.

"Does Michael want to know?" David taunts.

Michael grins at the challenge, remembering the night they met; David and the boys taking him down to the railroad bridge, carefree and wild with delight. 

_Michael wants to know what's going on. Marko, what's going on? I don't know. What's going on Paul? Wait a minute. Who wants to know? Michael wants to know._

"Oh, Michael wants to know," he says, humoured, twirling the stake in his hand. Edgar's eyes follow the movements. "Think you can tell me before I shove this stake up your ass, Frog?"

David starts howling in laughter.

Michael's not sure if it's because his brother's dead at his feet, Michael's threatening to ram a stake up his ass, or he's being laughed at, but Edgar bares his teeth. Probably all of the above. Well, the display isn't intimidating; not in the slightest.

"What did you want to tell me, Edgar? Huh? That I'm a monster? A murderer? Huh? That it?" Michael's eyes glint, daring the Frog to try something, anything. He does.

Edgar's hand, the one not occupied by holding his ribs, darts behind his back. Michael is immediately on edge, and when a stake is pulled out, he hears David snarl.

" _Michael_."

Michael's body thrums with adrenaline, the urge to kill, fangs itching under his gums. There is no way Frog is getting out of this alive.

"What if Sam could see you now," Edgar hisses. His voice drips in animosity, meant to cause pain, to hurt this time, and Michael feels it; every single one of those bitter words. "His own brother, a goddamn, shit-sucking vampire. Isn't that right, Mike?"

The words burn as if holy water has been sprayed on him, or the sun's lick of flame has singed across his skin. Michael knows he's only one second away from snapping. He tries to reign in the animal, the predator in his veins, as the instinct to kill, to  _feed_ , floods through him in throbs, like beats of a thundering drum.

" _Michael_ ," David's voice warns, again.

"On second thought, I wouldn't want him to have to see this," Edgar says flatly.

Michael can see the man's hand holding the stake, fingers losing colour from gripping it too tight. He should listen to David, can hear the voice in his head, scolding him. 

_'Don't be stupid, Michael.'_

But  _fuck_ , he wants to be stupid. 'Cos if being stupid is ripping Frog's throat out and gorging on his blood, then Michael thinks, so fucking be it.

_'I'm sorry, David.'_

He owes his maker an apology, at least. He can really prove he's sorry later, the fun ol' fashioned way, but right now this will have to do. He's got a Frog to kill.

Michael lunges. Edgar's hand goes up, stake raised, but Michael grabs the arm and bends it; the Frog's yell of discomfort as a loud, sickening snap follows is enough to fuel Michael's need for  _more_. Edgar's knees hit the ground, Michael's hand in his hair, pulling.

"You want to say that to me again?" he growls, Alan's stake pressed to the man's throat.

Edgar's mouth twists into a cutting smile, teeth gritted… but then David's there again, in his head, bellowing. Michael only has a second to realise how it sounds.

_'Michael!'_

Michael ducks down as Edgar pitches his weight forward, stake aimed for his heart. He rolls across the shore, fangs wet with fresh saliva, sand in his eyes, spitting and cursing.

Edgar and David are brawling; it's the first thing he sees once his eyes are no longer gritty with sand. Michael stumbles over to them, starving for that rich, canorous taste of blood on his tongue. The stake Edgar had been holding is nothing but splintered wood beneath David's feet and the one Michael had dropped, Alan's, has met the same fate.

David's eyes find his, ravenous. Michael knows his own are the same. "You finishing this, or am I?" he rumbles, cruel and perfectly barbaric.

"Together," is all Michael says, grin sharp, and David hollers in agreement.

Edgar's screams are just as delicious as Michael had imagined they would be. By the time they're finished, the sand is littered in body parts.

"Fucking disgusting, isn't it," Michael scoffs, standing there, staring out at the scene of carnage.

"No two Frog fuckers go the same way," David snickers, lighting a cigarette, and Michael snorts at the irony of that statement.

"We done here?" Michael watches David inhale, blowing the smoke out with a pleased sigh. He drops the cigarette after another drag, kicking sand over it, at the same time kicking Edgar's gnarled, decapitated hand. Michael rolls his eyes. "Or did you want to stay a bit longer, bask in the glow?"

For a second, Michael can think back to when he and David are lying together; caught in a moment, basking in a different kind of glow. The one time the walls David keeps behind seem to drop, allowing Michael to drink him in. All of him.

David's body sprawled out across the sheets; nude, exposed, though never vulnerable. His cigarette loosely held between his lips, head tilted back; a thin, small smile behind the hazy curls of smoke, almost fond. It's something Michael hasn't quite figured out yet, isn't sure he will, not entirely… but even so, Michael's thoughts waver at the fear he'd heard in David's shout tonight, right before Edgar had leapt at him with a wooden stake aimed for the killing blow.

The second's gone.

David turns to him, eyes gleaming, bathed in Frog blood, a wickedly deviant smirk on his lips.

_Fuck. Definitely gone._

Michael's thirst for blood may be soothed, for now, but another hunger still lingers under the surface and demands to be fed.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I may write more in this timeline, depending how I go. So, yeah, it may become a series. Let me know if that's something you'd want, please, and thanks again for reading!


End file.
